


A Certain Kind Of Sadness

by Lothiriel84



Series: An Ache I Still Remember [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tastes of cherries, and sunshine, and everything that is ordinary in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Kind Of Sadness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PipMer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/gifts).



> A companion piece to _Somebody That I Used To Know_. The title is a reference to the namesake song by Gotye.

She tastes of cherries, and sunshine, and everything that is ordinary in life. That’s what he likes; ordinary is good, ordinary means you’re not going to bleed your heart out for someone that cannot give anything in return.

(He doesn’t really blame Mycroft. Being the British government comes at a price; that’s something Greg has known all along, even if he’s been foolish enough to think it wouldn’t matter.)

Molly may be gauche and terribly clumsy, but she’s sweet and affectionate and caring – and they’re both lonely, burned and disenchanted with love.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over Sherlock,” she warned him that first night in her flat. “This is just the story of my life, falling for men too damaged to return my feelings.”

“He’s fond of you, you know,” he told her, hazel eyes staring back at him in resignation. “After his own fashion.”

“Maybe. A pity that Sherlock Holmes and sentiment don’t mix well.”

Greg shook his head. “Bloody Holmeses haven’t a clue how to handle sentiment. Nothing we can do about that.”

That was when Molly offered him a small smile of her own, mirroring the quiet sadness that was the constant companion of his life. He kissed her then, like a drowning man – desperation and longing engulfing him like a storm at sea.

(Kisses that turned to caresses and shed clothes and whispered pleas. They held each other afterwards, as they mourned the love that had slipped through their fingers and fled away.)

He still thinks of Mycroft sometimes, with his damaged intensity and the ephemeral bliss they shared for a while. Mycroft is like ice and glass, cold and fragile and likely to cut through your skin; while Molly is more of a summer breeze, warm and gentle and heavy with the scent of flowers.

It doesn’t take long for Sherlock to deduce the shift in their relationship, and yet Greg is not sure he understands. Two lonely people seeking comfort in one another, while hopelessly in love with someone else – that’s what they have in common, and most days it’s enough.

(There are nights when it’s not, but they never talk about that. He likes her, he really does, and it’s safer this way.)

Someday tenderness and understanding may grow into something deeper, and he’s looking forward to it. In the meantime, he basks in sunshine and sweet cherries, and is content.


End file.
